


sweet as cherry wine

by pearlshop



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Sharing Clothes, Size Difference, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-11-01 23:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20538782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlshop/pseuds/pearlshop
Summary: “Can I come in?” Eddie asks, teeth chattering.He’s soaked to the bone, a cornflower blue polo clinging to his small shoulders. It’s the only thing he’s wearing besides a pair of khakis that are also soaked through.Richie is suddenly very sober.“Eds?”or:Eddie leaves Myra and shows up at Richie's door.





	sweet as cherry wine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon divergence of IT: Chapter Two. Eddie survives and goes back to his wife, but not for long.
> 
> *The fic title comes from Hozier's song, Cherry Wine.
> 
> **This contains spoilers for IT: Chapter Two. Don't read this if you don't want to be spoiled for the film. If you do, it's not my problem.

It’s half past midnight and raining when someone knocks on Richie’s door.

The rain is so loud on the windowpanes he’s sure it’s just that, so he doesn’t move from where he’s strewn out on his sofa, crystal tumbler in hand. It’s become a familiar pastime since he left Derry.

_Since he left him._

He throws his head back, takes another swig of amber, and tries to forget.

But the world won't let him. The fucker knocks again, and again, before the knocking turns into pounding. Even four glasses of whisky deep, he can’t ignore the sharp thuds that feel like they’re on the inside of his skull and not the outside of his door.

“What the _fuck_?” Richie snaps, sitting up so quickly his head pounds.

His condo is smaller than a shoebox and costs a small fortune like everything else in LA, but it has security. There’s a doughy man named Bob that sits in the lobby 24/7 and two key cards people need to show to even get that far. It’s annoying but it keeps fans and dipshits like the guy banging on his door away from him.

_The lazy fuck is probably sleeping_, Richie thinks.

He wrenches open the door, a string of colourful insults on the tip of his tongue, and is immediately proven wrong.

“Can I come in?” Eddie asks, teeth chattering. He’s soaked to the bone, a cornflower blue polo clinging to his small shoulders. It’s the only thing he’s wearing besides a pair of khakis that are also soaked through.

Richie is suddenly very sober.

“Eds?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything in response. No, “Shut the fuck up, Richie,” or, “Don’t call me that,” and it’s enough to make Richie rub the side of his arms and pull him inside so quickly that Eddie stumbles right into Richie’s chest. He’s too confused to worry about what Eddie might think when he touches him.

_He’s shivering_, he thinks, _Why is he shivering?_

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, “How did you even get here!?”

Eddie lives hours away up in New York. It would have taken him at least 40 hours if he drove.

Eddie looks up at him and his eyes are dark and wet. For one awful moment, Richie is scared he’ll say, “It’s back, Richie.”

Instead he says, “I left Myra.”

His stomach drops, but for a different reason from the usual. For once he’s not scared shitless of a clown or a bad show, he feels hopeful. He immediately feels like a fucking idiot because Eddie said, “I left Myra,” not, “Take me, Richard.”

“Oh,” Richie says. It takes a minute for his mouth to catch up with his brain, his whole body sluggish from the alcohol and the fact that he has Eddie in his apartment.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore,” Eddie says, circling around Richie and then back. He’s not just shivering, Richie realizes, he’s shaking. “I mean, we were fine. I was fine before Derry. But then after I got back I could still remember everything and it was just…suffocating. You know she doesn’t let me stay up past ten!?” Eddie snaps, throwing his hands up, “She says it’s too stressful on my delicate body. Booze too.” He picks up Richie’s discarded tumbler from the coffee table. “I haven’t had a drink in years because she says my stomach is too weak. She’s just like her. She’s just like my fucking Mother!”

Richie doesn’t need to know Myra to know that, but he stays quiet.

“I killed a crazy clown before I was 14 but I’m too weak!? I’m too delicate!?” Eddie looks at the glass with resolution before saying, “Well, fuck her.” He downs it all in one gulp.

Richie would be impressed if Eddie didn’t immediately start dry heaving and run for the sink.

“Wow,” Richie finally says, “It took a killer clown and one week home to realize all that?”

Eddie flips him off, his head still buried in the sink.

“Fuck off, Richie.”

He nicks a cup from the dish rack and makes a beeline for Richie’s water dispenser even though he’s right next to the sink.

After he drinks his cup of water he gasps dramatically, like the alcohol was literal poison.

“Oh my god, what the fuck was that? Battery acid? You drink battery acid now, Richie?”

“It was top shelf whisky,” Richie defends, “You would know that if you weren’t married to your Mother and you drank anything besides rosé and shitty wine coolers.”

The few times they’d gotten drunk together as kids all Eddie could swing was some rosé from his Mom’s liquor cabinet. He told the Losers it was the only thing she had but Richie knew the truth. Mrs. K had a big liquor cabinet, Eddie just stole rosé because he liked it best.

“Fuck you, rosé is amazing,” Eddie says, and it’s like they’re fifteen again because they’ve had this argument at least a million times. But then Eddie’s teeth chatter, and they’re not. They’re adults and things are complicated because Eddie left his wife and he didn’t go to Bill or Mike or any of the others. He came halfway across the country straight to Richie.

Richie tries not to think to deeply about what that means, for his own sake.

“Did you fly here?” Richie suddenly asks.

Eddie’s frantic movements slow down, until he gently places his cup on the kitchen island.

“No,” Eddie says, in a small voice. “She called the credit card company and told them my cards were stolen so they froze my accounts. I drove.”

“What a fucking witch,” Richie says, the venom in his own voice surprising him. She is a lot worse than a witch for forcing Eddie drive for hours with the stitches in his chest still fresh.

Eddie shrugs, the fight from earlier leaving him. He was like this back then too, always too good to have a bad word to say about his Mother unless he was pushed to some unknown limit.

_She never deserved him._

Neither of them did.

Eddie’s hair is still dripping on the linoleum and he twitches every few seconds with phantom tremors from the cold rain. It’s suddenly, unacceptable.

“Where are you going?” Eddie calls out, when Richie walks past him and straight to his bedroom. There’s a stack of takeout boxes near the door that he knocks over in his haste to get to the closet. He kicks them all under his bed before Eddie sees them and decides to drive the 30 hours back to Myra. He snags a worn Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of sweatpants from college and hopes they’re clean and small enough for Eddie.

He walks back out and shoves them into Eddie’s arms.

“Here,” he says, “The bathroom is down the hall. Yes, the clothes are clean,” he adds when Eddie tries to discretely sniff his shirt.

“I was just making sure,” Eddie says, throwing his hands up before he disappears down the hall and into the bathroom.

Richie waits until he hears the shower start to run before he sighs and sits down, the live wire that is Eddie in his personal space finally cut.

He feels more alive than he has since he left Derry nearly a week ago.

It hasn’t been long at all, but being away from Eddie always felt like this, even when they were kids. When they were together, Richie’s world was vivid and fast, and when they were apart life got grey and dull. His life has been dull for the last 27 years but Richie was fine that way. You can’t miss something you never knew you had.

But those days are over. It is dead and so is the shadow it cast over Richie’s best memories.

Richie still isn’t sure which is worse, living without knowing Eddie or knowing him and not being able to have him.

“I’m done,” Eddie says, his wet feet squeaking on the hardwood as he walks down the hall.

“That was quick,” Richie says, surprised. He thought Eddie would be in there for at least thirty minutes, scrubbing himself raw like he trekked through mud and not water.

“Of course I was quick, you have mold in your shower, Richie. Mold! Do you know how many people die of mold every year in the United States?”

Eddie starts in on a long spiel about mold deaths that turns into white noise to Richie, because he looks way too fucking cute. His whole body is flushed pink because the only way Eddie likes his showers is boiling. He’s also swimming in Richie’s clothes, the legs of his sweatpants rolled up at least four times so they don’t drag on the floor.

Richie wonders if Eddie would smack him if he pinched his cheeks. Both sets of them.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying!?” Eddie snaps his fingers. “Do you want to die Richie? Do you want to die because of shower mold, and have your naked body discovered by that dumb fuck downstairs?”

“Oh, you met Bob?” Richie asks.

“I didn’t meet Bob, I sweet talked him into letting me in. You’re lucky I wasn’t some psycho fan that wanted to wear your skin as a sweater. Oh my god,” Eddie says, hands flying up to cover his mouth, “You should move. This place isn’t safe.”

“I am not going to move,” Richie says, rolling his eyes. “Wait, you sweet talked Bob? What does that even entail?”

“Well first I told him I was your brother but he didn’t buy that because,” he gestures at Richie’s face and then his like that explains anything. “There was no fucking way I was going to sleep in my car another night so I turned on the waterworks and said you were my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Richie’s throat dries up, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in telling the story.

“He was wearing a pride button so I figured it was a good bet. But then he trapped me and started talking about his husband and his ugly dog. A Pomeranian, obviously.”

They shudder at the same time and it’s so funny, Richie laughs. Eddie does too, until his shoulders are shaking and there are happy tears in his eyes.

It’s still raining and the chill seeps into the apartment, but Richie feels so warm.

“Fuck, I need to drink something,” Eddie says, abruptly. “For the first time in 15 years, I need to get drunk.”

“Are you sure?” Richie teases, “It might be too much for your delicate stomach.”

Eddie flips him off as he mills around the kitchen. He makes a soft noise, dropping to his knees when he finds the liquor cabinet.

“Do you have anything besides battery acid?” Eddie asks turning each bottle in the cabinet to check the label. “Jesus, Richie.”

“Sorry, I’m not a big fan of apple cider and juice boxes,” Richie says dryly.

Richie sits down on the couch and stretches backwards, lazily watching him. Eddie on his knees with his ass resting on the balls of his feet is a sight he wants to remember.

“Finally, something that can’t double as toilet bowl cleaner.”

Richie is a little sad when Eddie stands and turns, a bottle of cherry wine in his hands. It was a gift from his Mother when he graduated from UCLA.

He still remembers what she told him that day.

“You’re a grown man now,” she’d said. He then proceeded to throw it in a cupboard and take Fireball shots instead. He hasn’t seen the bottle since.

“Really, Eddie?”

Eddie is already pouring it into a wine glass. Richie expects him to take tiny cute sips like he did when he was younger and still squeamish but he chugs it in one gulp, before pouring himself some more. He downs that one too.

“Look at you, all grown up and rebelling against Mommy.” He’s just teasing but Eddie gives him a hard look before throwing himself on to the couch next to him, back slightly turned so Richie knows he’s pissed.

“Myra is not my Momm-“ he stops himself. “She’s not my Mom. And I’m never going back to her.”

“Alright,” Richie says, rubbing circles into his back. “I was just joking, Eds.”

Richie’s hand trails up, patting Eddie’s head like he used to, and then something awful happens.

Eddie starts to cry.

“What is wrong with me, Richie?” Eddie sniffles. He’s warm now but he’s trembling like he did when he arrived and Richie doesn’t know how to make it stop.

“Hey, what are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with you.” Richie rubs his back before making a decision. “Come here.”

He pulls Eddie down with him, until they’re both lying on the couch, the top of Eddie’s head resting in the crook of his neck. He’s always been small compared to Richie, but he’s smaller like this. Curled up and drowning in self loathing and Richie’s clothes. Richie plucks the now empty glass from Eddie’s lax fingers, and sets it on the floor.

“There is,” Eddie says, his voice weak. “There’s something deeply wrong with me. My Mom died, Richie. I was totally free of her and I…I went and married someone just like her! What the fuck is wrong with me!?”

Richie wipes the tears from his cheeks and Eddie leans into it, his head obviously heavy from the alcohol. Richie hates himself for stealing these touches, but he can’t stop. He’s always been greedy when it comes to Eddie.

“Your Mom was a crazy abusive bitch,” Richie says, bluntly. “Victims of abuse sometimes seek out partners that are like their abusers because it’s what they’re used to. It’s a thing, so technically you’re totally normal.”

“That’s bullshit, Richie,” Eddie snorts, “I’m just fucked up. It’s my fault.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie says, starting to get pissed off. Nobody is allowed to talk about Eddie like that, not even Eddie.

“So, Bev must be pretty fucked up then. You know her husband was hurting her.”

Eddie freezes against his chest, obviously surprised.

“What?” he says. He’s so shocked it comes out like a gasp. “I…I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, stiffly. “None of us knew.” None of them even remembered Beverly before two weeks ago. It makes Richie want to scream, thinking about her being beaten without any of them there to help her. He wouldn’t have minded delivering that fucker to Pennywise.

“That’s totally different, Rich,” Eddie says, “Of course Bev isn’t fucked up.”

“But you are?” Richie prods.

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie says, glaring up at him.

“I know you think you look really menacing right now but you just look cute,” Richie says honestly.

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, his cheeks getting rosier. Richie wants to pinch them, so he does. Eddie bats his hand away, baring his teeth like he wants to bite him.

“Shut up, Richie. And stop pinching my cheeks!” The whole sentence is garbled by Richie’s thumb that’s nearly in Eddie’s mouth.

“Nope,” Richie says, popping the P. “Not until you say there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I’m just a paranoid hypochondriac with Mommy issues, but fine, _fine_,” Eddie yells, “There’s nothing wrong with me. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Richie says. He never wants to stop pinching Eddie, but he promised so he lets go.

“You are so fucking annoying,” Eddie says, but it lacks bite. Especially when he doesn’t move, his soft warm breath tickling Richie’s neck.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” Eddie says, after a long moment. “Myra has access to all my accounts. I’m sure she’s already cleared them out by now. My credit cards are frozen. The house is in her name too.”

Richie lets out a long whistle.

“Fuck,” he says, because that’s pretty bad. But it’s not the end of the world even if Eddie feels like it is.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I don’t mind acting as your Sugar Daddy until the details of your divorce get smoothed out. That’s why you came here right?”

It’s a question wrapped in a joke.

_Why did you leave your wife and come to me?_

The whole situation makes his chest tight, even though he’s trying to stay grounded in reality. The reality is that Eddie is probably straight. He only came here because Richie is his best friend. Eddie doesn’t hate gay people, but he would never let Richie touch him the way that he does if he knew his dirty little secret.

It’s hard to keep reality straight with Eddie in his arms, wearing his clothes and lying on top of him. He even smells like Richie’s body wash.

“I didn’t come here for money!” Eddie says. He sounds oddly insistent like he thinks Richie actually believes that, which is crazy.

“I came because…” Eddie trails off, “You’re the only one that stayed the same.”

“My hairline would disagree,” Richie says, even though his heart is racing.

“Can you just shut the fuck up for once!?” Eddie snaps, shoving at him.

Richie catches his hands without thinking. He immediately lets go, but Eddie is the one who holds on, his thumb tracing the palm of Richie’s hand.

The last time they held hands like this was at Neibolt.

Before he can psych himself out, Richie interlaces their fingers. Eddie can probably already feel his boner against his hip so he might as well drive what’s left of their friendship off a cliff.

If this is the last time he’s going to touch Eddie, he’s going to make it worth it.

“Bill has Audra, Bev and Ben have each other, and I have no idea where Mike is,” Eddie says quietly, “But you…you’re still mine.”

Richie is sure he must have misheard him, but the room is too quiet for that.

The only noise is the rain pattering against the window and his own heart in his ears. He’s sure neither of them are breathing.

He waits for Eddie to add a joke or apologize for being a cornball but he doesn’t move. In fact, he’s completely frozen against Richie, head ducked down so he can’t see his eyes.

_He’s scared,_ Richie realizes. _Just like me._

Eddie is…just like him.

“I was always yours,” Richie whispers, because he’s too afraid to speak up, even now as a grown man.

_Eddie has always been braver than me. _

“Even when I didn’t remember you, I was yours.”

Eddie finally inhales, so relieved he shakes.

“Me too,” Eddie says, “Me too, Rich.”

It’s like ripping the seal off a dam for Richie. His hands are everywhere just because he can, stroking Eddie’s face with one hand while the other one gropes at his thighs. Eddie just stares up at him expectantly, his pink mouth hanging open like he can’t believe this is happening. Richie can relate. He doesn’t even know where to start because he’s wanted this for so long.

Richie thinks he wants to do a million things. First, go outside and scream because he’s so happy and then cry a bit. But only after Eddie falls asleep so he doesn’t make fun of him. He definitely wants to put Eddie on his back and fuck him until morning. Eddie’s so small they wouldn’t even need to drag themselves to the bedroom.

Of course, Eddie ruins the moment.

“Oh my god, I need a fucking inhaler,” Eddie gasps against him, “I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I might still have one.”

“You’re such a romantic, Eds,” Richie says, nuzzling the soft crown of his head. He presses a kiss there, loving the way it makes Eddie sigh. “First you leave your wife for me and now your love is going to send you into cardiac arrest?”

“Hey, no one said anything about love,” Eddie says, looking up at him indignantly. His eyes soften when he meets Richie’s gaze and if Richie didn’t know before, he knows now.

They’re both completely gone for each other.

“Yeah?” Richie says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, unconvincingly, his eyes falling to Richie’s mouth.

Eddie was brave today and Richie wants to be brave too.

He always imagined kissing Eddie would be rough and barbed, just like their words. But kissing Eddie isn’t anything like that.

When he kisses him, he’s careful. Not because Eddie is delicate but because Richie has wanted this for so long he’s going to get it right. He kisses him slow and deep, until Eddie is squirming in his arms like he’s going to burst out of his skin. It doesn’t help the boner situation in the slightest.

They both need to breathe but Richie doesn’t want to stop kissing him. The happy medium is breathing into each other’s mouths like a couple of horny teenagers. It’s wet and unsanitary and Eddie should hate it, but he just moans against Richie’s lips before pressing a series of shy pecks there.

_He’s so cute._

“You taste like a juice box,” Richie says, “And you kiss like one too.”

“Shut up. You fucking love it,” Eddie says before he pulls him in for another kiss.

Richie does.

He really fucking loves it.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a review if you liked this! I'm very new to this ship but I fell in love with Bill Hader and Richie's storyline in Chapter Two so I want to write more for them.
> 
> You can reach me @pearlshop on Tumblr if you want to have words.


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